


Ring In

by Weaponized



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bifle, Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, Light Spanking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Proving one's identity by way of dicking, Spitroasting, Steve is a tattletale, Super Soldier Sandwich, Threesome, Time Travel, Two Steves One Bucky, WWII Bucky flavour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28462185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weaponized/pseuds/Weaponized
Summary: Captain America did not take it well when another man in a tight, garish American flag suit arrived from the future.“I’ve already had to fight myself in one dimension, I was really hoping to avoid it this time,” the interloper sighed with feeling, but Cap stood up to him anyway.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Steve Rogers
Comments: 32
Kudos: 169





	Ring In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jehans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehans/gifts).



> I wrote this as a secret santa gift for the wonderful [jehans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehans/pseuds/jehans), or at least, I wrote 2,000 words of it for that. Then I just kept adding porn until it turned into this.
> 
> It is only thanks to [BrokenWords](https://twitter.com/brokenintowords) and [Pigeon](https://twitter.com/sublimepigeon) literally beating this thing that it ever became something readable. So cheers, lads.

Captain America did not take it well when another man in a tight, garish American flag suit arrived from the future.

“I’ve already had to fight myself in one dimension, I was really hoping to avoid it this time,” the interloper sighed with feeling, but Cap stood up to him anyway.

The fight ruined most of the map room and gave a couple of the typing pool concussion, but on the whole, Bucky thought it was over rather quickly. Future Cap stood holding both shields, a rueful, yet satisfied look on his face. Like a teacher who got to say ‘I told you so’ to their favourite pupil.

Captain America from the future was a little older, if not in looks, then in the way he inhabited his overlarge body. All of his muscles were on display, but none of them were put to work, and when he said, “Right now, I just need you both in a room where I can see you. That’s all.” Bucky, for one, was ready to lead the way.

❄︎

The two shields sat on the thin, coarse carpet of Bucky’s digs, and the three of them faced off in a triangle of two big burly points plus one Bucky, feeling a little hot around the collar. “Alright,” he said to the Steve from the future, “I’m going to call you Rogers. You’re older n’ me after all. You came back here to fix something that goes wrong on the Austria mission. I’ve read enough science fiction books to know that’s a terrible fucking idea, but you fight better than this Steve, so I’m also going to keep my mouth shut.”

But the Steve who was younger, and probably dumber, hadn’t had the chance to learn to keep his mouth shut. “You could still be a fake. If the future has time travel, I’m sure it has a lot of other things we didn’t think would ever come this side of Hell’s gates.”

Rogers raised both eyebrows at Steve The Younger and pointed at Bucky, “Want me to drop to my knees and suck him off right here? Want me to tell you that I know you two fucked on that bed last night? Because my memory’s pretty good, especially when it comes to times I came with my cock deep in that ass.”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak. Closed it again. Held up one hand, then used it to cover his eyes. “Oh, God.”

Steve huffed, “What, so you know we fuck?” He shrugged his great shoulders like punctuation.

Rogers sighed and put his hands on his hips in that exact same pose that he’d perfected the second he grew hips to grip, “My mom’s name is Sarah, I used to wear newspapers in my shoes,” he nodded his head to Bucky, “I asked him to marry me when we were nine, blah blah. I’ve been through this before.”

The tension in the room was thick. Bucky sat down on the bed and began to yank off his boots. Steve watched him, occasionally shifting his eyes from him to the older version of himself, clearly torn between recognising himself in every part of what Rogers had just said and the bullheaded need to act only upon his own absolute facts. He was still staring at Bucky when he asked Rogers, “So what year have you come from?”

“One that’s a long, long time from now. One that doesn’t matter to you, really. I’ll go back there, after, and I’ll be going back to my Bucky. I have some stuff to do here, but before I do it, I really did just want to have you two in a room with me,” Rogers looked at Bucky’s discarded boots and then reached down to tug at his own. “I’m gonna show you both something that might make all of us feel better.”

Steve—the one who hadn’t jumped through time—was suddenly the only one in the room not in his stocking feet, loosening his tie. “I’m not sure anything could make me feel better than you correcting time until there’s only one of me here.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Rogers said, running a hand through his shorter, fuzzier hair and sitting next to Bucky on the bed, slowly moving to touch one hand to his arm. He was tentative, polite, but also familiar, “I know what Zola did to you on that table, Buck. I know you aren’t the same anymore.”

Bucky felt his spine freeze in his flesh, and it was only with great effort that he could keep his eyes open and on the other occupants of the room. Naturally, Steve was beside him in seconds, dragging him several inches to the left, willing to get a shiner on the other eye if he had to.

Rogers continued to watch them cooly, “I know he injected you with something, and I know it makes you heal fast, run fast and shoot even faster than you did already.”

Bucky lowered his head, looking down the familiar hand on his arm. It was hard to nod, but he did it.

“Buck,” Steve’s voice broke, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m no supersoldier, Steve,” he muttered, “Look at me. Zola’s serum wasn’t a success.”

There was a protracted silence, during which Rogers very slowly rubbed his fingers back and forth on Bucky’s arm before reaching his other hand over to take over the task he had abandoned, slowly undoing the buttons at his throat. It was hard to arrange his face into anything, but with Steve and all his heft right in front of him, it was easy to slam a lid on the multiple reactions that had occurred. Steve remained still and stared at him while Bucky did his best to simply stare back. Meanwhile, Steve’s older self gradually worked his way down the long row of buttons.

Rogers’ hands were confident and efficient, tugging the coarse fabric from Bucky’s belt with no preamble, he went ahead and drew one hand up Bucky’s exposed chest, “You’re still pretty exceptional, Buck, in any timeline. May I kiss you?” he pressed his thumb to Bucky’s lower lip, ignoring the ugly sound that Steve made behind him.

Bucky, wary but also longing, nodded.

When the man from the future was done tasting him, Bucky looked like he had been torn three ways, “If I hadn’t believed you’re Steve Rogers, that could have convinced me,” he muttered, “but Jesus.”

Rogers smirked and stood up, leaving Bucky to flop back on the bed. He looked at his younger self and gestured up and down his body, “Stop looking like I’m thieving your family jewels, get that ridiculous uniform off and let me show you a few things. Things that will make him look like that,” he flicked his eyes to Bucky, who was absently touching his lips with dazed eyes.

❄︎

It wasn’t until he lost sight of which Steve was which while they tugged his clothes off and touched every inch of him that Bucky really began to think this was a terrible idea. He hadn’t been sure quite what it was that Steve-Rogers-from-the-future had in mind to teach his younger self, but when two big, heavy hands were pushing down on his upper back that he thought, “God, one Steve was already too many.”

“Wait ‘til I show him how to choke you,” whispered a voice in his ear, and Bucky decided he may as well just resign himself to crisis. Steve was kneeling in the sheets in front of him, perfect side-part a thing of the past, while Rogers cradled him from behind, and the sensation was like being lit on fire.

“In the future I got a bit more time and a bit more freedom to torture you,” Rogers bit his ear, “and find out all these dirty little secrets you were keeping.”

Steve watched with a hungry expression, thick locks of dark blonde hair falling in his piercingly blue eyes, and Bucky’s knees turned to jelly as Rogers’ palms massaged into his inner thighs with an insistent patience that was wholly unfamiliar to him. He was used to Steve going from zero to ninety-five in the time it took to get their clothes off. Rogers bent his head and Bucky felt the rough, scratchy skin of his cheek drag across his neck in a way that made him want to beg. And he just knew that he could plead ‘til he was blue in the face and not be given what he wanted.

Rogers slowly dragged his hands upwards, deliberately missing Bucky’s aching cock, pressing hard into his sides and pausing to once again elicit divine torture on his nipples, before both his hands came to rest against the hard, hollow place right above Bucky’s heart. “I’m going to hold him,” Rogers said softly, while capturing Bucky’s arms tight to his sides, “and you’re going to finger him open and play around with him.”

Bucky really did let a helpless whimper leave his lips at that, already lost in the promise of more sensation than he’d ever had heaped upon his sensitive, queer, Brooklyn ass. But even as he was getting ready to beg as loudly as he could without alerting the colonel in the room down the hall, Steve was frowning and leaning in to put his hand on Rogers’ wrist where it lay on Bucky’s collar bone. He nudged Bucky’s chin up, eyes fixed on something there, “Wait. You’re… you’re really married,” he frowned.

Rogers chuckled, “Yup. To this.” And he pressed a fierce kiss to Bucky’s cheek which tipped his head to the side. “Or to my equivalent in my own timeline.”

Steve’s eyes began to smoulder in that dangerous way they did right before he was about to enter any fight with inadvisable odds, “I marry Bucky. In the future.” He sounded wounded, but not unhappy.

Bucky fought the heavy, intense feeling that had settled over him to croak, “So I’ve already said yes, Stevie, you can pop the question any time.”

Rogers hummed in a pleased way and tightened his fingers against Bucky’s neck, stacking one hand over the other and pulling upwards slowly, using his unbelievable strength to extend Bucky’s spine and pull his head back until he was struggling to breathe and completely strung out, arms clasped uselessly to his sides. “That’s enough talking I think, baby, you’re going to need that mouth later for other things.”

Bucky gurgled helplessly, the sensations crashing through him in such quick succession that he felt his whole body simply go limp.

“He really… He likes it.” Steve had come close, kept his hand on Bucky’s chest, and now he was picking up the jar of Vaseline and running his other hand up the underside of one leg, and gently tucking three fingers under Bucky’s balls. “Why didn’t you just tell me, Buck, you know I’d do anything you wanted.”

“I don’t think he really knew himself until right now, did you, pet?” Rogers murmured. Bucky tried to shake his head, but it was mostly useless against the constricting grip on his throat. 

Everything felt soft around the edges. His fingertips felt ice cold, while his chest and stomach were alight with something he’d never felt before. Usually he was on a quick, frantic mission to find his way towards climax and grasp at the release that it gave him, but as he lay supported between two sets of obscenely strong arms, legs spread and his skin on fire, Bucky felt like he had already been released. He was floating along on something indescribably comforting, struggling to breathe, spine aching, Steve’s fingers pressing at his hole.

It wasn’t until Steve was fucking into Bucky with seven whole fingers that Rogers loosened his grasp, letting him drop. “Turn him over,” he instructed Steve, “this might be the only night of his life he gets two of us, so I guess we gotta make sure he remembers it nice and clearly.” He slid a hand into Bucky’s hair and pulled his head back, dropping his voice, “So you’re going to get my cock in your throat to remind you just who’s fucking your ass.”

Bucky thought he made some sort of noise of resigned pleasure. He didn’t know where Steve learned to talk like that, never mind _when_ , but it was doing terrible things to him and he was still swimming in the heady pleasure that somewhere in the future another version of himself lived on and got to have this. And now he had it too, like a gift.

Rogers was firmly in control of both the bodies in front of him, and it was at his command that Steve knocked at his inner thigh, pushing his legs wider, and took a gentle but inescapable grip on his shoulder, the tips of his fingers just brushing at Bucky’s throat.

“Bow your back, Buck,” Rogers’ voice was deep and velvety, “Show us that ass.”

He tried, but it clearly wasn’t nearly what was being asked of him, because before he could get his balance, there was a heavy weight in the small of his back and two big hands gripping his upper thighs, pulling him up into an obscene position. His knees were deep in the rough, scratchy blanket and his asshole had never been so cold or exposed.

The hands on his ass settled into a deep grip, “All that cake,” Rogers chuckled and Steve joined him.

“Cake?” Steve sounded delighted.

“Yeah,” Rogers’ hands squeezed at the flesh in them, “This cake. That’s what the queers say these days in New York. This Buck has good cakes.” And then he lifted his palm and slapped it down. Bucky squealed.

His face buried down into Rogers’ thigh, Bucky felt the stinging sensation radiating from Rogers’ palm on his ass went right to the tightness in his throat. And then that hand lifted and struck back down again, and he found himself panting wetly into Rogers’ thigh. “F-Fuck,” he pressed his face in harder, burrying the urge to moan more lewdly.

“Spank him like he’s a naughty little boy, he loves that,” Rogers’ voice spilled his secrets like they were currency in the bank of Bucky, and Steve was making a withdrawal that might see him happily through years of fucking with Bucky Barnes. His slightly more hesitant hand took over from Rogers’, gently caressing the soft, tender flesh before he slammed his palm down into it.

Bucky groaned and clutched at the bedclothes, biting at his lips, feeling his face flood with colour. Rogers’ hands were on his spine, one of Steve’s was around his neck and his other was laying stinging little spanks to his ass.

And then Rogers kept talking. “This little baby. He just wants to be given it harder and harder, huh Buck.” He sounded so tender, and when Steve laid down another slap to his ass, held up like it was, Bucky had to clench his teeth.

Steve’s hand on his neck gripped tighter, pulling him up from his hiding place. “That right Buck?”

His spine felt like it was breaking, his ass was on fire, but with Rogers eyes on him, he nodded, and tried his best to say, “Yeah,” but it was mostly a croak.

A finger traced up Bucky’s throat, he didn’t even know whose, and lips descended on his. Hands were spreading his cheeks apart and he felt knees slide between his as Steve—his Steve—snuggled up to the back of his thighs.

The hands threading through his hair were gentle, loving, and Rogers was looking down at him with an affectionately raised eyebrow, “You want to put something in your mouth, baby?”

Being called baby was certainly nice, if weird, and Steve had never called him that before but maybe he would now. “Mm hm,” Bucky mumbled, because if he tried to speak he knew his words would slur, but Rogers wasn’t asking him to speak now, anyway, he was asking for something else.

The dick was familiar, if better groomed than the Steve currently pressing the head of his cock against his ass. Bucky felt Rogers place one hand around his jaw as the other wrapped around the base of his cock, using the grip to gently guide the wet, shiny tip against Bucky’s cheek while Steve’s hands tightened on his hips in a way that suggested he had already learned some lessons and was planning to make full use of them. 

He tried to turn his head, opening his mouth, but Rogers held him fast, “No, baby. Stay just like that. Beautiful. You haven’t changed a bit. You don’t even know how comforting it is to find that.”

Bucky didn’t know what that meant, but when Roger’s cock tapped his cheek with a gentle slap, he turned his face into it, begging wordlessly to be given what he deserved as the Steve behind him—the same—sank slowly past the rim of his ass. The moan that vibrated up from his chest was a plea, and when he finally got his lips around the hot, slippery head of Roger’s dick, he sucked it in with all the energy he had.

He couldn’t stop the choke from shuddering his spine, but Rogers didn’t do anything other than pet his fingers slowly through his hair. Meanwhile his own, very slightly more familiar version of Steve Rogers was digging his fingers into the skin that stretched between his hip bones and sinking his cock deep into his ass. Bucky Barnes was just a scrap of something and he was being pulled taut by the most loving hands he had ever felt.

“Buck,” Steve bent down, the slick weight of his chest so close, “Baby,” he whispered, and Bucky melted. “All these verses in your song I never even heard before.” His hands were so strong, his cock was so hard and deep, and yet he was leaning in harder, further.

When his head was pulled up, Bucky loosened his lips, appreciating the chance to breathe in, then out, suspended by the hair, yet immersed in things he doesn’t really understand. He enjoyed it though. The hands in his hair tightened into fists.

“You still here, baby?” It was probably Rogers who said it.

Bucky hummed.

“See, he likes it.”

The matter of fact way it was said made everything feel like it was melting. Bucky wasn’t aware of the bed anymore, the scratchy blanket or the thin sheets. He no longer acknowledged that there was spit sliding down his chin or a heinous kink in his neck where he was being held up by the hair. Everything was just liking it.

Steve fucked into him with the same vicious energy that he always did, but Rogers petted him, supported him, held him up. Bucky opened his mouth again and asked, silently, for his mouthful.

“You want this cock back in your throat, baby boy?”

He did, he really did, and he was burning up for it.

“Alright, I’ll let you suck on it.”

God, but Steve had learned a lot about talking filth and Bucky was willing to gag on every word of it. He didn’t exactly have the words to express that, though, so he just dived back in to take the cock he was free to gag on instead, lips tight, tongue and spit everywhere. It was messy, maybe Bucky in the future knew how to do it better, but he knew with every cell of his being that no matter what year, he’d still be enthusiastic about sucking Steve’s dick.

The hands on the back of his neck felt encouraging, and even though Steve was gripping both his hands as if he might slip off the edge of the earth if Bucky let him go, it wasn’t disturbing to the state of desperate surrender that Bucky was entrenched in. He had almost forgotten that his cock was his and that he could come with it before Steve moved their joined hands under Bucky’s body and closed their joined fingers around his own cock.

“Tell him how good he feels,” Rogers’ voice fell between them.

Steve didn’t stop his messy fucking to talk, “Fuck—Feels like Heaven, Buck.”

“Tell him you want to ruin him.”

There was a rough groan and Bucky felt his knees shift with the force of Steve’s next thrust. “I want to watch you cry, Buck.”

And that did awful, wonderful things to him and even with nothing but his own eyelids to stare at, Bucky felt himself tiptoeing towards orgasm, the fingers on his cock tight and hot, his own and yet not. He wasn’t even sucking Rogers’ cock anymore, he just had his mouth open and willing, and his head held up by forces not in his own control. It had to be working though, because Rogers was saying soft, praising sort of things above him, while Steve was panting at his back.

Steve came first. Unmistakably, loudly, swearing a blue streak right through the room. “F-Fuck. Sergeant Barnes. Fuck.” His grip on Bucky’s cock went slack, and Bucky found his own hand going slack with it, following.

Steve let go of one of his hands, at least, so Bucky could use it to try and stuff more of the cock in-his-mouth into his mouth. Steve was still in him, softening, wet and sloppy, a weight on his back.

“Take your time, baby,” said a rough voice, and Bucky was relieved to hear the strain in it. He felt like he was at breaking point but he didn’t want to crash into the sparkling mirror yet, he didn’t want to smash through climax and never put together these fragments again.

He knew he was crying but he couldn’t feel the tears. He couldn’t even feel the shame. Maybe it had been peeled off him along with the sweat from his brow and the whimpers from his throat. He could barely move his head but he could slide his closed fist up and down the base of Rogers’ cock and he could suck. Steve was mouthing lazily at his neck and Rogers was petting his face, touching his lips and cheeks gently. He was speaking but Bucky couldn’t hear more than a low, comforting growl.

When Rogers came in his throat, Bucky choked on it, then came himself. Untouched, burning up like paper held in a flame.

Every muscle had cramped, every joint had lost sensation, and yet instead of pain all Bucky felt was the tight grip of hands on his waist, turning him, and soft lips on his temple.

“Is he alright?”

“He’s a lot more than alright.”

He was and he tried to show Steve by finding his hand—he thought it was Steve’s hand—and squeezing it, but his grip wasn’t much. Steve tucked Bucky under his arm and lay back on the thin pillows, while Rogers remained upright, a more commanding presence. Steve, by contrast, looked torn. Bucky recognised the sardonic tilt to his jaw that told it like he wanted to say something that might cut at Bucky’s pride. But the soft, fixed gaze that cradled him said that Steve knew well enough that he had no pride left to stab his little remarks into.

“Why are you here?” Bucky asked the Steve who wasn’t at war with himself. The one who had come here and caused a sensation within his former self on his way to do something else.

Rogers drew one of his legs up and rested his giant arm on it, looking down at them with a contented expression. It was very different from his fierce determination from earlier or his grinning delight at telling secrets Bucky didn’t even know he had been keeping.

“I’m here to change a couple of things is all. I know you’re leaving for the Alps tomorrow. I’m coming with you.” 

Rogers didn’t sound concerned in the least about the mission, so Bucky presumed that the detail he needed to fix was some small thing. He rolled a little more onto his back and snuggled down into Steve’s embrace. “Once upon a time I thought I was a big, strong guy. And my best guy was this tiny little thing who could burn me down just with a look,” he licked his lips.

“You don’t sound too disappointed that things have changed,” Rogers hid his smile in a display of subtlety Bucky never thought would come from any Rogers of his acquaintance.

Bucky didn’t think he had ever been further from disappointment, but admitting it would be cheap. Instead he reached out with one hand to invite Steve Rogers, a man who had seen terrible things but still had all his sweetness, to cradle him from both sides. The bed wasn’t built for three grown men lying beside one another, never mind three grown men, two of whom were super-sized, lying beside one another. It was nice enough though, for the spoiled man who got to be the sandwich filling, anyway.

Bucky tried not to wonder about anything from the future in that moment, even if he was dying to ask. He knew his questions wouldn’t be appreciated, so he just told the room, “I know you are sad about what you are and what I am. But let’s just stop giving a fuck about that shit and enjoy what we have.”

**Author's Note:**

> Spitroast. Happy fucking new year.
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think.


End file.
